


We'll Figure it Out Along the Way

by blueangel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always-a-girl!Stiles, Female Stiles Stilinski, Gen, Genderbend, Genderswap, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, road trip fic, season 3a au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-26
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-24 18:35:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueangel/pseuds/blueangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been through hell.<br/>She’s been drowning for a long time; back before the Alpha Pack and Gerard, or even when the smell of chemicals had soaked her hands and burning flesh had been pungent in the air. If she had to guess, it would have been when her best friend had become a creature of the night. Who wouldn’t panic though? Back then; Stiles did what she knew how to do: burying herself in books and straining her eyes in the lamp light, until words like lycanthropy and werewolf became the norm.<br/>Now, she was holding on by her fingertips, straining not take in that last breath. Voluntary apnea, she had told Ms. Morell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Figure it Out Along the Way

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is an au to season 3 sort of. Some stuff that happens in this story happened in 3a and some stuff didn't, just keep that it mind. Other than that I hope you enjoy!

They’re just kids. People tend to forget that.

A group of teenagers was not supposed to worry about being killed on a daily basis.

Stiles shouldn’t be used to the slam of her heart against her chest, fear making her body shake and lungs burn as she tried to take in air. She shouldn’t know the taste of blood as it goes down the back of her throat, metallic, and briny. 

But she does.

Stiles wakes up every day to the sound of her alarm clock blaring, blurry eyed, with dread gnawing at the pit of her stomach; wondering if today was going to be the day she died.

Stiles has been through hell.  

She’s been drowning for a long time; back before the Alpha Pack and Gerard, or even when the smell of chemicals had soaked her hands and burning flesh had been pungent in the air. If she had to guess, it would have been when her best friend had become a creature of the night. Who wouldn’t panic though? Back then; Stiles did what she knew how to do: burying herself in books and straining her eyes in the lamp light, until words like _lycanthropy_ and _werewolf_ became the norm.

Now, she was holding on by her fingertips, straining not take in that last breath. Voluntary apnea, she had told Ms. Morell.

* * *

 

_When she wakes up she takes a deep breath, the smell of clean-too clean- invades her senses, and coarse sheets rub against her face. This is not her room. Stiles’ room smells like sandalwood, her sheets are soft and her pillows smell like mint._

_But where-? Hospital, her mind supplies. Faintly, she hears the sound of a heart monitor._

_Sluggishly she opens her eyes, blinking at the sudden intrusion of light. Stiles sees the IV in her arm and cringes._

_‘’Dad,’’ she croaks, lifting her mouth from her pillow. The sheriff sits in a chair beside her bed: hair and uniform disheveled with bags so long and dark he might have a chance at being adopted by a raccoon family in the near future._

_He jumps at her voice. ‘’Jesus Stiles,’’ he leans forward brushing a hand across her forehead. ‘’What were you thinking, out in the middle of the woods all by yourself,’’ she swallows down the guilt that twists in her stomach and sniffles._

_‘’I’m sorry-‘’_

_‘’Don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay. Honesty, what were you doing in the middle of the woods anyways?’’_

* * *

 

Badly folded clothes are stuffed in her bag as she glances at the clock. Did she forget anything? Stiles checks her list, fingers tapping against her desk and pen stuck behind her ear. She throws in the one more pair of socks in- satisfied that it will last her- before zipping up the gym bag and throwing it over her shoulder.

Absently she takes the pen from behind her ear, tears a piece of paper from her notebook, and scribbles a quick note to her dad.

_Dad,_

_I’ll be back before school starts. I promise._

_Love,_

_Stiles_

It’s short, too short, but the number of pages she would need to write –to explain – she doesn’t have the time for that. Already, the itch under her skin is telling her to _go go go._ If she’s learned anything from the nightmare that’s become her life, it’s that she needs to trust her instincts. 

She tosses the note on her bed before carefully adding her phone on top of it. She second-guesses herself: paces the room, almost tearing the note, gets so close as to crinkle the paper in her fists before setting it back down again.

Finally, with a sigh, she takes stock of her room: the worn blue comforter, the _Fall out Boy_ poster that hangs on her wall, and the books that spill from her shelves onto the floor. These things are pieces of her that she’ll leave behind, if only for a little while.

If she doesn’t go though, doesn’t leave, she’ll drown. What use would she be to anyone then?

Stiles packs her jeep:  her bag and the odd salty snack thrown in the backseat before she puts the key into the ignition.

Her fingers dance over the steering wheel, her lips tight, as she crosses the _Welcome to Beacon Hills_ sign. It’s then that her shoulders relax and she lets out a breath, the rumbling of the engine lulling her into a sense of peace as streetlights and signs blurring together.

Stiles doesn’t have a plan for once. It’s feel s strange, nerve-wracking even. For almost two years, she and Scott had, had to try to stay one-step ahead of the big bad, or tried to play catch up. It hasn’t been fun. So _this_ , this is something new.

She mindlessly navigates, ennie meeny miny moing highway signs and streets until her vision starts to blur, before she stops, just as the sun starts to rise.

Stiles really _really_ , does not want to stop at a motel, but concedes that the one she chooses to stay at  does not have a body count or grisly newspaper clippings in their bibles (she checked), and when her head hits the pillow that night she falls into a deep sleep-no supernatural goings on to interrupt her eight hours.

She still has nightmares though.

* * *

 

_The rope stings, but even so Stiles wriggles it against her wrists, wishing for a knife. Allison would have had a knife._

_Around her Kali circles the area, her gait graceful and strong –like a panther- just waiting for prey. Stiles doesn’t know where Ethan or Aidan is, if they’re even here. God, she hopes not. The last thing she needs is the wonder twins._

_‘’Guess you kidnapped the wrong_ damsel _. They’re not coming,’’ she spits out to the presence behind her, turning her head as she feels a hand on her shoulder.’’ Don’t you dare touch me.’’ Stiles growls and shakes off the hand._

_‘’My apologies, but perhaps you should have more faith in your friends.’’_

_Pain thrums through her body, muscles aching, as the forest turns pitch black; there’s not even a moon to see by- just the stars. She must have been here for at least two hours._

_‘’You know, the whole taking me in to the woods thing, not original. I’m disappointed.’’ Deucalion huffs out a laugh and ignores her._

_‘’ I can smell your pack at the edge of the forest, they’ll be here soon enough, but perhaps they need the proper motivation.’’ Stiles starts to break out in a cold sweat. Before she can even think of making a break for it- throbbing headache and pitch black, nothingness be damned – she feels the stabbing pain of werewolf claws in her back. Fuck._

* * *

 

Stiles wakes up, the room is plain as she remembered: fading green wallpaper, and questionable looking carpet. The curtains are shut haphazardly, so that the only light that comes from the windows is at the top. Careful not to stretch, Stiles glances at the door.

 Someone is knocking on her door.

Now there are really only two possibilities. One, she somehow pissed off the management. Which really, her snoring could not been that loud. The other is that something from the supernatural world is about to try to kill her, _again_ , and they just have the courtesy to knock first. She’s banking more on the second because when you’ve lived in Beacon Hills as long as she has, there’s a good chance that it’s rubbed off on you, and that you are thereby a magnet for the mentally disturbed supernatural. It’s like one of the laws of nature.   

‘’Stiles, open up.’’ Scott. Crap.

She shucks off her sheets and stumbles to the door, almost banging her toe on the dresser before she opens the door.

Scott looks wrecked: hair blown half to hell, dark shadows under his eyes, and the overwhelming stench of sweat that comes off him in waves.

Stiles wrinkles her nose, ‘’did you run here?’’

Scott looks at her with incredulous eyes before sweeping her up in a hug. The particular smell that is Scott: laundry detergent, sweat, and the faintest smell of dog that he gets from the clinic, accosts her nose as he clings to her. Stiles lets herself sink into the hug, wrapping her arms around him.

‘’What’s up Scotty?’’ She asks into his chest before pulling away, running a hand through her hair.

‘’Stiles, _you can’t_ … can’t just disappear like that. Not after everything.’’ Scott croaks and for a second his eyes flash red. Stiles takes a step back, swallowing down her panic. This is Scott: naïve and idealistic. Sweet and kind; this is someone who she knows would never intentionally hurt her.

‘’I left a note.’’ Even to her own ears, it sounds like a pathetic excuse. Scott whimpers, and Stiles sits on the edge of her bed, her hands fiddling with plain silver chain that was once her mothers. ‘’I had to get away. I needed _time._ I didn’t know anyone would…I didn’t know you would come looking for me.’’ It’s half a lie.

The bed dips and Scott is next to her, shoulders hunched and hands clasped to his sides. ‘’Are really going to just leave your dad? The Pack? Do you not even care anymore?’’ It’s a low blow, even for Scott. He’s angry though, and Scott’s not an angry person. Therefore, when he is angry, he’s kind of an asshole.

Stiles leans into him, putting her head on his shoulder, ‘’Of course I care. I’ll always care. Beacon Hills, my dad, the pack-they’re my life. I just need a vacation, that’s all.’’

Scott straightens himself with a sigh, ‘’I guess we all need a vacation.’’ His hands tremble a little and for the first time Stiles sees the toll these past few years have taken on her best friend.

‘’How about you come with me?’’ Stiles hesitates.’’ I didn’t have anything fancy planned, didn’t have anything planned really, but you could come.’’ She’s torn. A part of her wishes he would say no. This trip was for her. The other part, the dominate part, wishes he would say yes. They haven’t been alone, haven’t been Stiles and Scott, for a long time. It would be nice.

Scott looks stricken. Even if he says no though, he’ll let her go. He’ll try to convince her to come back home, but he won’t drag her back. For Scott, choice is a big thing. She guesses that being unwillingly pulled into the supernatural world, where mostly everything wants to kill you will do that to you.

 For a long time Scott doesn’t look at her, but at the palm of his hands. She lets him, getting ready for the day, wanting to get on the road as soon as possible-her brain still screaming at her to _go go go_. 

When she steps out of the shower, wet hair dripping onto her t-shirt, he is sleeping on the bed. Stiles doesn’t want to wake him up. He looks peaceful this way- as if he doesn’t have a bunch of teenage werewolves looking up to him, or the fate of a town resting on his shoulders. Scott’s relaxed, mouth open wide, drooling, his fingers twitching, as if he’s trying to grab at something. Right then, Scott doesn’t look like a leader, an Alpha, or a werewolf. He looks like Scott.

She hits his thigh as she passes him. ‘’Come on Scott. I have to get going.’’ She throws her bag her shoulder and looks at him expectantly; a smile on her face, ‘‘Are you coming?’’

‘’Yeah,’’ he says. His voice is hoarse. ‘’I think I am.’’ Something bubbles up in her and she lets out a laugh.

‘’Yeah, okay. So, um…well you’ll have to go back, pack a bag, tell your mom. I’m just going to go have some breakfast down the street, and then I’ll meet you at the car when you get back.’’ Sties turns towards the door, fingers brushing the knob before she turns back, ‘‘I’m glad you’re coming. I really am.’’

Scott gives her a smile.

* * *

 

‘’So how did find me anyways?’’ Stiles asks. Her fingers are tapping on the steering wheel again, the song on the radio barely registering to her over the hum of her jeep.

‘’I followed your scent.’’

Stiles snorts, ‘’Nice work Krypto.’’ It’s a joke, but there is an edge to it. Scott rolls his eyes anyways.

‘’I don’t even know who that is.’’

Stiles gapes at him, ‘’you’re killing my poor nerd heart Scott, you really are.’’ She shakes her head in mock disappointment. ‘’It’s Superman’s dog, because you my friend, you are totally Superman.’’

‘’I thought I was Batman?’’ He quirks an eyebrow at her, grinning. He’s playing along and she lets him, grateful for the easy banter.

‘’No that’s Derek-‘’ Stiles sucks in a sharp breath and bites her lip. Out of the corner of her eye she see’s Scott turn rigid, his knuckles clenched against the seats. 

After that, it’s silent, and Stiles is grateful that for once, her brain-to-mouth filter actually works- stops her from saying anything more.

* * *

 

_The ground is cold against her cheeks, her breath blowing them across the ground, and hot tears staining her cheeks and covering her lips._

_The pain…once, when Stiles’s mother was still alive, they had been making dinner-pasta. Her mother had gone out of the kitchen, and Stiles, at three years old had climbed up on a chair and had stuck her hand in the pot of boiling water. It had hurt, like her skin would melt from her arm, and she had screamed for her mother, who had run into the kitchen and had looked at the bright red arm with alarm. Back then her mother had a put a cool cloth on it and taken her to the hospital._

_This pain is a thousand times worse._

_Around her are fangs, claws, and red eyes. Scott isn’t here. Isaac isn’t here. Why aren’t they here yet? Allison? Lydia? It’s just Derek and Cora, and they’re losing. Already, blood is soaking skin and clothes- both of them getting wounds faster than their bodies can heal._

_It’s like Deucalion and Kali are making a sport of it, killing them slowly._

_Stiles is losing too much blood. Black spots dance across her eyes and breath coming in shallow gasps. Soon she’ll go into shock. She read an article on it once._

_Its right at that moment, with her breathing turning shallow, the sound of howls fading, and the feeling of blood sticky against her tied wrists, that Stiles accepts the fact that she might die._

* * *

 

Scott looks uncertain as he lays the map against his lap, legs and feet stretched out on the dashboard.

‘’No plan?’’

‘’Nope,’’ she makes her lips pop with the word, and grins.’’ Just a good old-fashioned adventure.’’

Scott huffs, ‘’I thought we’ve already had enough adventures.’’

‘’One that does not involve homicides and life and death situations, a relaxing adventure,’’ Stiles grumbles.

‘’I think you’re missing the whole point of an adventure.’’ Scott mocks before returning to the map. Stiles rolls her eyes.

‘’How did you afford this _adventure_ anyways?’’ He asks.

Stiles shrugs, ‘’I broke out the old piggy bank.’’ The truth is her mother left her a good chunk of money. For college of course, but this whole thing seems a little more important. Stiles likes to think that her mother would understand, would _believe_ her, if she ever had to tell her, about well _,_ everything.

They drive until its dark, gorging on beef jerky and Twizzlers, and stop at another motel. Stiles can tell that Scott isn’t tired, the opposite. Maybe it’s a wolf thing. Maybe it’s an alpha thing. For all that Scott tries to deny it, that’s what he is now. All she knows is that he looks like he’s about to burst out of his skin.

‘’Come on, let’s take a walk,’’ she suggests.

They end up walking ten blocks to a small town. It’s quiet, a few kids roasting marshmallows in fire pts in their backyards and a dog or two bark at them before seeing Scott. It’s peaceful. It’s normal. Not her normal obviously, but other people’s normal.  She doesn’t feel like she has to keep looking over her shoulder.

Her sneakers clap against the asphalt as the air starts to cool and Scott’s shoulders ease as Stiles hums. This is why she and Scott were best friends. Scott never used to talk much and Stiles had the tendency- still does- to talk too much or say wrong the thing. With Scott, it didn’t ever feel like she ever talked too much, and when she did run out of things to say, the silences were comfortable. Now, it’s like stepping on eggshells.

‘’You know, Cora’s doing okay.’’ Scott quietly says, not meeting her gaze.

‘’That’s…I’m glad.’’ Stiles gets out, her voice strangled. She tilts her head up and lets in a breath, letting herself gaze at the quarter moon.

She wonders what it must feel like, howling at the moon. It must be freeing, all that pent up energy just let out. She wishes she could howl, just to get rid of all that energy that’s beneath her skin. If she tried it now it probably just come out as a scream. It would be good though, just to get rid of all the guilt, the anger, the confusion-all of it would be gone in a moment. Maybe then, she’d get a decent night’s sleep. 

‘’I think we should go back,’’ She mummers. Without a glance, she tilts her head back down and spins back around.

When they get back to the motel room Stiles doesn’t bother with changing, instead kicking off her sneakers, and crawling into her bed.

* * *

 

_Cora doesn’t howl. She doesn’t scream, just cradles her brother in her arms._

* * *

 

‘’The moon’s almost full.’’ Stiles says the next day. They’re on back roads now, dust kicking up as Stiles changes gears.

‘’I can handle it.’’ Scott says calmly. Stiles glances at him. ‘’You don’t think I can.’’ His voice is accusatory.

Stiles shakes her head. ‘‘I just think that we don’t anything about what you’ll be like when the moon comes, you know with your alpha status and all. Hence, the back roads. Not exactly populated, less chance for someone to get hurt.’’  

‘’And you?’’ Scott asks.

‘’I can take care of myself Scott.’’ She sighs.

Scott’s face takes on a dubious expression. ‘’I can.’’ Stiles barks out, her hand tighten on the steering wheel. ‘’ Deucalion caught me off guard. Even then, I still stabbed the bastard before he knocked me out.’’ 

Stiles can still feel Scott’s eyes on her. It passes through her mind to keep going, there’s a small town about ten miles up the road and she’d rather not have to spend another night in some dinky motel, but this conversation has been a long time coming, ever since Stiles ended up in the hospital for nearly three weeks. With a frustrated growl, she jerks the jeep to the side of the road and puts it into park, jerking the keys out of the ignition.

‘’What?’’ Stiles snaps. Scott puts a hand on her shaking ones-still clutching the steering wheel- and places them in her lap, before he rubs a hand through his hair and leans against his seat; a faraway look in his eye.

‘’ I went back on my promise, that’s why he took you. We found you in the woods Stiles, half-dead. Derek and Cora- _Jesus Stiles_ , Isaac and I, we could smell the blood even before we were in the woods,’’ Stiles doesn’t want to remember that night, but it seems like all she does is remember. Like how she could, smell the blood to, hers and Derek’s; could practically taste it on her tongue, even now.

‘’Derek’s dead,’’ the words are pulled from her mouth and spilled between them, shattering them both like glass. ’’But it’s not your fault.’’

‘’It’s not your fault either.’’ Scott says his voice rough.

Stiles doesn’t want to cry, she’s already cried more times than she cares to count, because while she may not have cared for Derek that much, may not have even liked him, or trusted him, he had tried to save her. It’s that that one thing that makes her feel guilty as hell now that he’s gone.

Stiles swallows down a sob,’’ I know.’’ She sniffles and puts the keys back in the ignition. ‘’We should keep going.’’

* * *

 

_Derek liked to threaten her. Stiles likes to think it’s because he’s so emotionally constipated that he can’t properly communicate. She never once thought he would go through with it because really, to him, Stiles was not a threat, and she certainly wasn’t the prey to his predator._

_Still, she recalls his favorite words of warning, ‘_ I’ll rip your throat out, with my teeth.’  

_She didn’t think she would ever witness someone getting his or her throat ripped out, but then there’s Kali, beautiful and wild, who had supposedly slashed Ms. Blake’s throat- doing just that, to Derek._

* * *

 

Stiles starts to feel it on the afternoon before the full moon. An itching under her skin that she can’t scratch, making her squirm in her seat- restless. She ignores it, blames it on the hours she’s spent driving.

‘’Should we pull over?’’ Scott asks her once, and she shakes her head, certain that it will pass. It doesn’t. It gets worse.

Stiles starts to feel sweat drip down her forehead, her collarbone, the dip of her back where her bandages are. She’s sure Scott can hear her heart racing, the beating of the organ like a metronome in her ears.

‘’Stiles,’’ Scott finally says, his voice commanding.’’ Pull over.’’ She recognizes that this isn’t Scott; this is the wolf. This is the Alpha, or maybe it isn’t. Maybe Scott and the wolf aren’t separate entities anymore, no matter how much Scott may want them to be. Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be. Wolf and human mixed, until you can’t tell them apart.

Stiles blinks and she’s staring at the roof of the backseat of her jeep. There’s pain again, her back burning-she’s burning. She scratches at her skin, delirious, trying to pull the bandages from her back as the pain crawls up her body.

She feels arms around her, holding her still, sees black veins and red eyes. For a moment panic and pain mix together until she is choking out breaths and squirming for release, but whoever is holding her doesn’t let go. It’s Scott. It has to be Scott.

Stiles vision clears and he’s there, looking down at her with a panicked expression. ‘’Am I changing?’’ Her voice is almost nonexistent, her throat sore and aching with use. It’s her greatest fear, becoming a werewolf. Sure, super werewolf powers were cool, but it was still a curse. She’d seen enough to know that. The loss of control, the subservience to an Alpha who may ask you to kill or maim in the name of pack, who would want that?

 Maybe it was different for born wolves, for the Hales, but all Stiles had ever seen from the supernatural world-hunters included- was blood, violence, and a pile of bodies to bury when it was done.  Why would you ever call that a gift?

Hysteria swells in her as she tries to remember the night in the woods. Deucalion and Kali had never bitten her. Had they? No. Her wounds would have healed automatically. Unless she was rejecting the bite. Was that it? No it couldn’t be. Stiles tries to recall the facts, pluck them from her mind, but she can’t concentrate, the pain blocking everything else out.

‘’Scott what’s happening to me?’’

Scott shakes his head and she thinks he pulls out a phone before she blacks out again.

* * *

 

Stiles wakes up in scratchy sheets again and for a moment, she’s in the hospital again. This place, wherever she is, doesn’t smell _too clean._ Instead, it reeks of stale air and cheap laundry motel.

When she opens her eyes, she sees that she is in a motel room. Different from the one’s she’s been in before, and Scott’s sprawled out next to her.

She clears her throat, ‘’Scott?’’ He jumps up and lets out a shuddering breath. ’’Do I look that bad?’’ Stiles tries to let out a chuckle before the burning in her throat tells her that’s a bad idea. ‘’Water?’’ Scott carefully gets of the bed and lifts a bottle to her lips, placing a hand on her shoulder to try to help her sit up.

The water feels like heaven on her throat, and before she knows it, the bottle is empty.

‘’So doctor, what’s the diagnosis?’’

Scott runs a hand through his hair before answering. ’’Wolfs bane poisoning.’’

‘’You have to be kidding me.’’

Scott shakes his head, ‘’Deaton says that Deucalion must have had Wolfs bane in his system, and when he scratched you, it got into yours.’’

For a moment, Scott’s explanation is met with stunned silence before Stiles lets out s laugh, because really her life is one huge joke. ‘’I gave myself wolf bane poisoning. Oh my god, I’d cry if it weren’t so funny.’’ She lets herself laugh until she’s wiping tears from her eyes and meets Scott’s perplexed eyes.

‘’I had wolfs bane on the knife I stabbed him with. I poisoned myself.’’ Stiles snorts.

Scott made a pained noise. ‘’That’s not funny Stiles.’’

‘’No, but if you think about the past 18 years of my life, it’s hilarious.’’

Scott frowns and hands her a bottle,’’ Antibiotics. Deaton says you should take them every five hours.’’

Stiles lifts the bottle and shakes them in front of his face. ‘’And you just happen to have these.’’

Scott shrugs sheepishly, ‘’Deaton said you might need them.’’ Stiles doesn’t know how Deaton got a hold of antibiotics. She doesn’t really want to know. She’s learned not to ask about Scott’s boss. Questions would just get you more questions with him, he was just generally cryptic, not to mention all kinds of shady.

‘’This is why I don’t trust your boss Scott,’’ Stiles drawls.

They both elect to stay in for the day, both of them sleeping side by side, only a centimeter between them. She guesses Scott was in panic mode and forgot to ask for two beds, or they didn’t have any, it didn’t really matter.

Stiles closes her eyes and listens to Scott’s breathing, the slow inhale, and exhale, and the faint smell exhaust and gasoline that comes off of him, lulls her into a memory. It’s not a particularly pleasant one, but it’s fitting; the night Scott tried to light himself on fire. He had smelled like gasoline then to, even after he had taken a shower. She could still smell it, sitting a seat behind him. Stiles hadn’t slept well that night either. None of them had. For Stiles, it was the relief that they were all still alive-that they had made it through Motel Hell. And in weird way, it was comforting for them to all be there, so close- like pack.

That was one of the first things she’d actually researched, what it meant to be pack. It was strange though, that what she saw in real life and what she read were two completely different things. That a pack didn’t have to be family, that it could break down so easily, and yet it could be _everything_ if done right.

It makes her wonder what the pack was going to be like now. How were they supposed to pick up all the pieces of each other and keep moving forward?

* * *

 

_Stiles isn’t stupid. She actually has the second highest GPA in her class.  Therefore, because she isn’t stupid, she knows she’s in trouble when she goes out to her car. Its dark and quiet, like all the critters around her house have scattered, and she starts to feel like the first victim in the beginning of every horror movie ever._

_Stiles knows there’s a shotgun in the front hall closet, because hello Sherriff’s daughter, but by the sound of footsteps in the distance and the clacking of the cane on the sidewalk, it’s too late. She pulls the pocketknife from her sweatshirt and flips it open before turning and blindly thrusting it in the air. Stiles isn’t surprised when it meets flesh. It’s her only moment of triumph really, and before she can throw out a Buffy life remark, she is thrown against her jeep, the back of her head slamming against the driver’s side door._

* * *

They stick to the coast mostly, both of them taking turns driving. Stiles likes the ocean, the smell, the taste of salt on her tongue and on her skin.

 It reminds her of her mother, and how ever summer no matter how busy they all were, she insisted that they all go at least once. So, her dad would back up chairs and towels while her mother would smear copious amounts of sunscreen on her, and make sandwiches with wheat bread, turkey, and just the right amount of mayo and mustard.

Her family would spend the day there and Stiles and her mother would refuse to come out of the water until they were both starving and shivering. The Sherriff once joking said that they were both mermaids. Stiles thought it was funny until years later, after Scott was bitten, she learned that actual mermaids were not what Disney had taught her, and were actually prone to drowning men at sea.

The memory is still a comfort though.

She tells Scott this when they sit on the hood of her jeep the first night that they stop at a beach. He looks sad, probably remembering the girl who no one had spoke to until he had sat next to her during sixth grade English. That’s one of the things about Scott though; the one thing that’s never changed about him- he’s always had a big heart.

“Hey remember when I totally broke Jackson’s nose, in the seventh grade.” Stiles says randomly. She’s been feeling a little nostalgic lately, so sue her.

Scott throws his head back and laughs. ‘’Of course, you had detention for a month and I was all alone during kickball.’’ Stiles and detention had never really been friends, until Mr. Harris, but it had been totally worth it to be able to see Jackson gob smacked and bleeding. Incidentally, she and therapy had also started a relationship back then.

“It was simpler back then.’’ Stiles states, grabbing another gummy worm from the bag before licking the sour powder from her lips and fingers, and handing the bag to Scott.  

He hums in agreement before grabbing a fistful of the candy and shoving it into his mouth.

‘’I’m sorry,’’ Stiles says, suddenly serious. ‘’I got you into this mess. I don’t know what I was thinking, searching for a dead body.’’

She isn’t surprised to feel arms wrap around her, ‘’It’s not your fault.’’ She’s not surprised at his words either. Stiles gives him a kiss on the cheek for it anyways.

* * *

 

_Scott and Isaac bring her flowers when they visit her in the hospital, guilty looks on both of their faces._

_‘’It’s all right, mega wolf, totally unstoppable.’’_

_She repeats the same line when Lydia and Allison come to visit._

_Stiles just wishes that they had killed Ethan and Aidan, instead of just running them out of town, but Mr. Argent had taken care of Deucalion and Kali, that was something at least._

* * *

They spend three weeks going from beach to beach; spending the days there, eating hamburgers and French fries until Stiles vows to never look at another fried food again and goes to a nearby farmers market for fruit.

During the evenings, they drive around before returning to whatever beach they spent the day at, and spend the night there, taking cold showers in unsanitary public bathrooms in the mornings, before getting back on the road.

Stiles cheeks become permanently red, her skin just slightest bit tan, and sand leaks from every crevice of her clothes. Time seems to slow, and it’s good-really good- but that’s why it has to end.

* * *

 

‘’We have to go back tomorrow, don’t we?’’ Scott asks. She leans back on the hood of the jeep and fumbles for the cigarettes and lighter in her sweatshirt pocket. Taking one from the pack, she hesitates before flicking the lighter.

Stiles nods, exhaling her first puff of smoke, her head turned away from Scott. ‘’Yeah, it’s time to head back.’’

She glances at Scott, ‘’you don’t look surprised about the-‘’ she waves her hand at the smoke.

‘’I could smell it on you. You know it’s bad for you.’’

Stiles chuckles, ‘’thanks for the warning. I did take the same health class as you, you know. It relieves the stress,’’ she shrugs. ‘’It was either this or-’’ They both know how the sentence finishes. _I could have disappeared inside of a bottle._

It’s not just because of Derek-the smoking and the stress.

It’s about the scars that litter her body, the bruises that never seem to fade, and the dark shadows that have appeared under her eyes. It’s knowing that there are worse things than Darachs and Alphas coming to Beacon Hills, and it’s their fault. It’s the darkness that she can feel sucking her in-like a black hole-and she doesn’t know how long she can hold on before she slips into that void.

It’s knowing that she’s only human.

Stiles is awesome. She can research better than anyone can, she’s smart, she’s cunning, but tricks only get you so far when you’re up against magic and claws.

It’s realizing that she has accepted the inevitably of a short life.

‘’I don’t want to be a monster,’’ Scott suddenly confides, worried look on his face with eyes that don’t belong to a kid-they’re tired and she sees the guilt about the blood that had been spilled in the name of safety and pack. There will be more blood soon. Names like _Peter Hale_ and _Gerard Argent_ come to the forefront of her mind.

 Stiles doesn’t blame him for thinking he’ll become one. Alphas, the ones they had met, were not known for their gentle nature.

‘’You’re not a monster Scott. You’ll _never_ be a monster. We won’t let you. Promise dude.’’ Stiles nudges his shoulder with her own and puts out the cigarette, returning the lighter to her jacket pocket.

‘’What about power and corruption?’’ Scott won’t meet her eyes as she shakes her head.

“That’s not going to happen, trust me.’’ Why would he ever-. Scott had been too quiet lately, not to mention the exhaustion and now the questions…

‘’You’ve been having nightmares to.’’ Scott nods. ‘’What about?’’

‘’Deaton said there would be a darkness, but,’’ he swallows and turns to look at her straight in the eye, ‘’I didn’t think it’d be like this. We didn’t even…we didn’t save those people. We were too late. Now I dream about murdering my friends every night.’’

Something twists in her stomach as she wraps her arms around him. ‘’Sometimes I dream about killing Peter and Gerard.’’ She’s never acknowledged it, but the dreams are still there. Still frequent and blood soaked.’’ Neither of those things is going to happen Scott. Isaac, Lydia, Allison, your mom, they’re going to care of us. You know that right, and we’re going to take care of them. Besides, you could never do something like that Scott. Not ever. You’re not like _them._ ’’

‘’I could be.’’ He whispers into her hair.

She presses herself against his shirt. ‘’No. You’re too…good. I’ve known you for too long to think that you could do something like that.’’

Roughly, he asks. ‘’Would you kill Gerard or Peter?’’

‘’If it was the last option? If I had to protect the pack, or my dad? I would.’’

 ‘’You don’t think I would do the same?’’

‘’I don’t know. That’s not the same thing though, killing a threat-an enemy-and murdering a friend.’’

‘’I would it. To protect us all, I would do it.’’ She doesn’t question him on it.

* * *

 

They pass the _Welcome to Beacon Hills_ sign and Stiles feels like a noose is being tightened around her neck.

‘’So,’’ she says, trying to ignore the heavy feeling, ‘’what do you think the rumors will be? Two wanted criminals on the run? We eloped and runaway to Las Vegas? ’’

Scott throws his head back and laughs.

‘’What? You know it’s true. Not to mention there’s already rumors about all of us in town. Mrs. Stacey at the library, she thinks we are in a cult."

‘’Really?’’ Scott grins.

‘’I’ve also heard the term gang thrown around the School; I think it’s because of all the leather. So stereotypical.’’

They pass house after house until she pulls into Scott’s driveway. His mom is home. They both lean back on their seats; because despite Stiles medical emergency, the trip was the most fun they’ve had in a long time.

‘’So how long do you think you'll be grounded for?’’ Scott asks.

‘’Until I move out of the house.’’

‘’You know we never did watch _Star Wars,_ did we?’’

Stiles undoes her seat belt, ’’You and Isaac better not hog all the popcorn this time.’’

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> please comment.


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